"Two souls are sometimes created together and in love before they're even born." -F. Scott Fitzgerald
When eight year old Beau Ruby met twelve year old Colton Caine, she had no idea she was meeting the love of her life. She had no idea she'd grow...
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Again, time marched on. It was odd the way my life kept seemingly stopping in random, jarring jolts and then miraculously picking back up. It was like a twisted merry-go-round. We'd go 'round and 'round and then come to a jarring halt only to slowly start back up again.
Colton started therapy. Real therapy. He was working harder and harder every day, but I only knew that through the stories he told. I wasn't allowed to come to therapy with him... the doctors said something about me distracting him.
So, during the day, I finally ventured out from the hospital. I spent a few hours each day at the flower shop, working on getting the shop ready to open again. I finally got new shipments of flowers and plants, and I cleaned the shop from top to bottom before arranging flowers and roses in pretty mason jars and vases just like Aunt Verne had taught me. I had officially started the process of legally changing the name of the shop to Verne's Floral and Gift Shop, and I spent a little time each day painting "Verne's" in big, sweeping script letters on a wooden sign Jack had cut for me.
Colton finished therapy everyday between two and three, so I usually grabbed a sandwich from the hospital cafeteria on my way back up to his room and ate on the tray in his room while I waited for him.
After about three weeks, he could move his arm fully and even grip things fairly well. He could wiggle all his fingers, and he could bend them all one by one except for his thumb. It was stiff, but it was better than when he started.
He had also started doing some light weight-bearing exercises, and he was usually exhausted in the afternoons when he got back to his room. He sat up a lot in bed, now, and he seemed to be in a better mood. I still couldn't leave him, and I spent each night curled against his side in his bed. The nurses had brought a shower chair to his room, and I was able to help him shower every few days. He didn't shave very often, and he was growing a scruffy beard that I liked.
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"Hey, Beautiful," he said, grinning as his nurse, Bailey, opened the door to his room for him. "Check me out," he added, and I stood to move closer to the door to get a better view.
I raised a hand to my mouth and cried out. He was standing. Standing. Now, he was standing with the support of crutches, and he was a bit hunched over, but he was standing. He wore a supportive boot on his left foot, supporting his ankle, still.
